


Staring At The Photographs Lying On The Floor

by themightythore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Flower Child Harry, M/M, Punk Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themightythore/pseuds/themightythore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis loved the little things about Harry, but he hated that damn camera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring At The Photographs Lying On The Floor

Louis loved the little things about Harry. His fragile flower crowns that seemed implanted into the deep curls. How his eyes sparkled when he discovered something fascinating. The face splitting grin he got when he amused himself, which was quite often, mind you. He even loved the faint whistling noise that he made when he slept; not quite a snore, but there was definitely a noise. 

But what Louis couldn't stand about Harry was that he was always taking pictures. 

It was as if he caught a bad case of tourist syndrome sometime in his youth and it was wired into his DNA. He took pictures of his mother, his stepfather, and his sister too. He photographed his body guards when they weren't paying attention and Lou Teasdale when she wasn't busy fixing up the boys. He took pictures of every stage and stadium, every city and town, every street and every fan he could. He took pictures of Zayn and his wonderful artwork that he treasured maybe even more than Malik himself. He took pictures of Niall laughing, and of Niall sleeping, and when he was playing with his nephew Theo. He took pictures of Liam and his dog Loki playing in the fields of a local park, and he took pictures of Liam goofing off; because, let's face it, they all goofed off. 

But in Harry's entire box of photographs, Louis found not a single snapshot of himself. Not one of him and his tattoos, his piercings, his dyed hair. There wasn't even a picture from the X-Factor days when the two boys met for the first time. Harry never took pictures of Louis. And Louis was hurt.

Was Harry displeased with the way he looked? Were his dark clothes and tan skin too much unlike a midnight beach? Was he not as photogenic as one of the cobble streets of Italy? Not as fascinating as the Arc de Triomph or the Eiffel Tower? Was he beneath the effect of the Great Wall of China? Why would Harry have thousands of pictures of fans he'll never speak to again, but not a single photo of his own boyfriend? 

To say that Louis was hurt, and that he despised the apparatus with which Harry hurt him would be the understatement to beat all understatements. He wanted to throw the pictures away, smash the camera, and burn the whole damn thing to the ground. He wanted to—

"Louis, what are you doing?" Harry appeared from the bathroom in a towel with freshly dripping curls. 

"Why do you never take pictures of me?" Louis asked, never looking up from his lap, where lain a picture of Harry, Liam, Niall and Zayn. Louis nowhere to be found. 

"What? Lou—"

"Am I not worth taking pictures of? Am I not worth the sparing two seconds it takes you to press that damn button on your camera?" He looked up now, the fairy lights Harry had pinned to the headboard caught the shimmer of tears in his eyes. 

"No. Not at all, Lou. I—"

"Then why is there not a single god damn picture of me in here?! You have at least ten thousand photos in that damn box but not a single one of me! I'M YOUR LOVER, HARRY!" Louis had stood up, scattering multiple photos on the floor around him. He was face to face with Harry, well, face to broad shoulders. And Harry was too taken aback to answer. He simply stared down at Louis trying to speak through his eyes, trying to somehow convey what his mind was saying but his tongue refused to transmit. 

"Right. Well. I'll just go for a walk or something," Louis moved past him. "And don't wait up for me, Harold." And then he was gone, door still shaking on its hinges from where he slammed it moments ago. But to Harry, those moments were decades.

~*~

It's a funny saying between partners. 'Don't wait up for me.' Both parties knowing, subconsciously, that they will most definitely be awake when their other half returns.

After Louis left, Harry shook out his curls a little to dry them, before slipping into pajama bottoms. He sat on the floor, cleaning up his pictures and packing them back in their box. Then he turned out the light in the bathroom, leaving the bedroom ones on, and lay in bed. He just lay there, legs flat on the bed, arms folded neatly on his stomach, fresh flower crown adorning his freshly cleansed curls. He stared at the wall for a while, before sliding down the bed a little to stare at the ceiling.

'Don't wait up.' As if Harry could do anything but wait for Louis to come back. Louis always came back, they never fought over anything major, just petty arguments. But Louis, being Louis, would always choose to ignore the problem between them and instead run out the door into the harsh London weather. So Harry would be left to twiddle his thumbs until Louis inevitably decided he wanted to deal with the problem.

He was drawn out of his trance by the light cough that came from Louis in the doorway. Harry sprung out of bed, full of need to heal the latest spat between lovers. 

"Louis, before you say anything else let me explain." He gestured for Louis to sit at the foot of their bed, and he calmly followed suit. 

"Okay Harry, I'm listening."

"That box, in the closet, isn't meant to be seen. I keep it for me, and before today, I never expected anyone else to find it. I mean, I figured you would eventually because you live here and all. But anyways. What I'm trying to say is; the box is for me, so that I don't forget anything important to me."

"But—" Louis started.

"Let me finish. Please," Harry looked over at Louis, this time it was his eyes that glimmered under the fairy lights. Louis nodded for him to continue, the lump in his throat scaring him too much to speak. 

"I don't want to forget important things in my life. I became famous when I was 16, Louis, my whole life might as well be in the limelight. And I don't want the little moments to get lost in the hustle and bustle of fame.

"When we go places, I take pictures so I'll know exactly what it looked like at that exact moment in time. I'll know exactly what I was doing, or what Zayn's latest masterpiece was, or what new shenanigan Niall had drug Liam into. I'm so scared of forgetting, Louis." He stopped to brush a few tears away, and took a ragged breath to continue. 

"But I don't need to take pictures of you, Louis, because I'll never forget anything about you. In my whole mess of a life, you're the only thing that's constant and the only thing that, come ten or twelve years, I absolutely know will be there. The future scares me, Louis. I don't know what's coming and I can't plan for it and I'm just not one of those damn hippies that can go with the wind and all that shit." Louis and Harry shared a tight chuckle, tears cascading down pale and tanned skin alike. 

"But I know that I'll always have you, Louis. And every time I get a doubt about that, you come back through that front door ready to fix whatever we fucked up. We work together, Louis, like some weird, anarchical yin-yang stuff. You balance me out, Louis. You're what I need and I'm what you need and, damnit Louis, I love you."

Louis wiped Harry's cheeks, catching tears with his thumbs before planting a kiss on his quivering lips. Harry would get so flustered trying to explain himself and if that was't a little thing that Louis loved, he'd be lying. The kiss was soft and chaste, but contained exactly the amount of passion the two had in their bodies and relationship since day one. Louis pulled back to stare into Harry's eyes, trying to convey to him exactly what he didn't trust his voice to say. And Harry knew what it meant. And Louis was grateful. 

"I, um, bought you a gift to make up for that whole fiasco..." Louis drifted off, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small rectangular box. Harry's eyes lit up like the northern lights to see Louis had bought him a new Polaroid camera. He hugged Louis tightly and thanked him for the gift before pulling him close again and stretching out his arm with the camera, snapping a picture of him and his lover. Harry took the film and shook it a little to speed up the developing process, before showing it to Louis.

"You know," Louis started. "I don't think you're going to need that."

He ripped the picture, then again, and again until the picture was lost. He kissed Harry's slightly agape mouth before speaking again. 

"You're not going to forget me. I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
